Honeypot (1/3)
Much belated fic for imwithteamfreewill, gifted by pasunepomme. I’m so sorry for the delay, I’ll do my best to get the next parts up quicker!
Dean loved this bar.
It was a nice, quiet little place on the outskirts of the City where people were a little less friendly to the Corporation or its goons. The bar was dirty and smelled like cheap beer, much like the people who frequented it.
Didn't bother Dean a bit. And hey, if someone recognized one of the Corporation's Most Wanted... it tended to get him free drinks here.
So, in short: Dean was something of a regular here. (Well, as 'regular' as he could be, considering Ruby would have his hide if he fell too deeply into a routine the Corporation could pick up on.) Dean knew the bartenders, knew a good portion of the regular clientele, and knew that that guy was definitely new.
New to the bar, and probably the greenest son-of-a-bitch the Corporation had on its extermination staff. Dean almost felt insulted.
The man wasn't bad-looking, not in the least. From across the room, Dean could tell his hair was dark and messy and that he had something of a runners' build; all lean muscle. He also stuck out like a sore thumb in his suit and tie, seeing as everyone else wore varying shades of plaid flannel and jeans.
Final nail in his coffin: he was doing a terrible job of 'bashfully' glancing away every time Dean looked over.
Least it meant that Dean was probably the target. Wouldn't be the first time the Corporation had sent someone to seduce and then murder one of their naysayers, at least if Ruby's intel was legit.
Dean downed the last of his beer and made his way across the bar to Mr. Green-As-Hell. He'd play along, get the guy somewhere with no innocent bystanders, then ask him a few 'questions'.
The man seemed startled as Dean dropped into the chair across from him. Dean put on his most flirtatious, winning smile.
"Hello, there," Dean purred. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?"
The man had blue eyes, Dean noticed. Gorgeous, unfairly blue eyes.
The man attempted another one of his 'bashful' head dips, and when he raised his gaze again, Dean could see why. His attempt at a 'flirtatious smile' was even worse, so far from convincing it was almost charming.
"I could ask you the same question," the man said. Dean breathed in, taken aback.
Gods, his voice. Husky and deep and- whoa, down boy.
Dean cleared his throat. He raised his glass.
"Just looking for a drink and a good time," Dean said. He smirked and lifted his beer to his lips. "And seeing as I already got the one... know anyone who could help me out with the other?"
Dean took a sip. He enjoyed the sudden splotch of pink dusting the man's cheeks, the way his mouth fell open slightly like he hadn't expected his ruse to work.
"I... might know someone who would be amenable," the man said. He fidgeted a little, seeming torn between looking at Dean and looking away. Dean took pity on him and figured he'd cut this part of the proceedings a bit short.
"You got a name?" he asked.
"Cas-" The man looked up, visibly irritated with himself for a moment before his expression smoothed. "Cas. And you?"
"Call me Dean," Dean said. He nodded at the mostly-empty pint glass resting on the table in front of Cas. "You up for another round or would you rather we take this somewhere else?"
Cas's relief was visible when he replied.
"Somewhere else, please. Somewhere private."
Dean smiled grimly.
"You got it, buddy," he said.
The night air had a bite to it, a hint of chill that a decent coat would take care of easily.
Then again, maybe it was just the tension.
They hadn't spoken since they'd left the bar, though Dean and Cas were both still trying to play at being the other's one-night-stand, walking close together with Dean's arm around Cas's waist. He figured Cas had to know something was amiss, given how he kept staring suspiciously at their surroundings. With good reason; Dean was leading him towards the warehouse district instead of the run of hotels on Main Street.
Specifically, Dean was guiding him towards an old warehouse earmarked for demolition next week. Should be more or less deserted, and for the amount of time it would take to take care of Cas here, Dean was sure they wouldn't be disturbed.
"Do you live around here?" Cas asked, suddenly breaking the silence. Dean blinked, startled, then smiled easily.
"Close by," he lied. "Should be there in just a minute."
For one thing, Dean wasn't nearly dumb enough to take his partners home with him. Motels did just fine for a night of fun, and had the added bonus of no security breaches.
Dean guided Cas around a corner. Just up ahead on the right was the warehouse Dean had been steering them towards, and at a glance Dean could see that the building was dark. No flashlight beams in the windows, no flickering light to indicate trashcan fires... good.
Dean's heart began to beat faster in anticipation as they neared the open doorway of the warehouse. Adrenaline started pumping through his veins. He counted down the steps: five, four, three, two...
One.
He dug his feet in and pivoted, using his grip on Cas's waist to throw him into the building. To his surprise, the other man turned the throw into a smooth dive and roll. When Cas stood, he was holding a long, shiny silver knife Dean hadn't even seen him draw.
Maybe not so much a rookie, then.
Dean grinned.
"Welcome to my humble home," he said dryly, reaching for the sheath at the small of his back. He drew his knife, wishing he hadn't left his gun with Ruby.
'Bullets are expensive', his ass.
Cas actually had the gall to glance around as though assessing the warehouse's decor.
"Could use better lighting," Cas said, deadpan.
Why, that bastard.
Dean gave him a feral grin.
"I'll take that under advisement," he said. He lifted his knife and took a step closer to Cas. The other man didn't move, but his eyes tracked Dean's every movement and he stayed light on his feet. "Who sent you? The Corporation?"
"You've made a lot of enemies, Dean Winchester," Cas said. He was expressionless, voice almost cold, and Dean scowled. He much preferred opponents with a bit of soul to them; made them much easier to provoke into making a mistake.
"Them's the breaks when you play Robin Hood," Dean said, smirking. He eyed his opponent warily, knife held at the ready. Cas was sizing him up too. They slowly circled each other, looking for an opening.
"Why are you doing this, Cas?" Dean asked casually, hoping to distract him long enough to wing him. "They promise you money? Women? Or men, if that's more your bag. Drugs?"
"The bounty on your head is attractive enough anyone might go after it," Cas said neutrally. Dean snorted a laugh.
"You don't strike me as a freelancer," he said. He took a deep breath. Cas obviously wasn't going to strike first, so time to do what Dean Winchester did best; improvise.
The warehouse was more or less just an open space enclosed inside old brick walls, with wooden pillars to support the roof and a few rooms in the back that served as offices. It was no good for any sort of ambush, even assuming he managed to lose Cas in the small space. Dean supposed he could run out the door, find another spot for this little showdown, but that risked involving innocent people.
Besides, something in Dean balked at running, even if it was just for a ruse. Headlong charge it was, then.
In the space of a heartbeat, Dean coiled his legs and sprung. Cas nimbly sidestepped and counterattacked with precision. Dean blocked, grinning.
From there, it was a dance of block, block, stab, attack, parry, blockblockblock. To any onlooker, it might have seemed choreographed, but Dean knew one false move would see that wicked blade embedded somewhere deep.
"You're surprisingly good," Dean said, panting heavily as they sprang apart and began circling one another again. The fighting had forced them deeper into the warehouse, making escape via the door an increasingly less likely option. And this wasn't a fight Dean was certain he'd win anymore.
Fuck. Ruby was gonna kill him.
"Why 'surprisingly'?" Cas asked. At least the bastard sounded just as winded as Dean. Score one for team Winchester. Dean huffed in a weak attempt at laughter.
"I can tell this ain't your first rodeo, but have you ever seduced someone before? Literally ever," Dean taunted.
Cas narrowed his eyes.
"I don't see how that's relevant," he said lowly. Dean goggled.
"What- really?" he said. Cas glowered, then he lunged.
Dean brought his knife up just in time to deflect the strike aimed for his jugular. Cas fought fierce and fast, pointed attacks that would be devastating or debilitating if they made contact. More than once, Dean felt the tip of the blade whiffle by his skin.
Of course, he was getting almost as many near-hits on Cas as Cas was on him.
Almost.
Dean didn't realize he was being driven farther backwards into the warehouse until his feet found something on the floor. It wasn't a large something, a pebble or a divot at most, but it threw off his balance for half a precious second. In the next second, Cas had seized and twisted his wrist until the blade in his hand fell from limp fingers.
Fuck.
Dean dove forward, driving his shoulder into Castiel's stomach and hoping desperately he could get Cas off-balance enough that Cas couldn't bring his knife to bear. Reckless as fuck maneuver, but damn if it didn't work. Cas let out a low 'oof' as Dean's shoulder made contact, stumbling backwards.
Dean straightened up and grabbed frantically at Cas's arm, catching his wrist just as Cas made to stab him.
They held like that a moment, a tableau of violence. Dean breathed, straining to keep the blade away from his chest while Cas pressed his advantage.
"Bastard," Dean spat, sweaty and exhausted. Cas narrowed his eyes.
"Assbutt," he said, and in any other situation, Dean might've laughed at the childish 'insult'.
The blade trembled between them, Cas behind it trying to force it down and Dean in front of it trying to shove it away. Stalemate; whoever could endure longer was going to be the victor.
As the knife lowered centimeter by centimeter, Dean knew he wasn't going to win this one.
Time for another risk, he supposed. Not allowing himself to think, lest he telegraph his strike, he breathed in deep and brought his back leg up in a vicious kick aimed between Cas's legs. If Dean fell backwards or lost balance now, it'd be Game Over.
Dirty tactics, but it worked. His blow was off target due to the awkward angle and Cas's last-minute dodge, but it did the trick. Cas's expression was dark as he circled Dean again, watching for an opening to strike.
"That was low," Cas said. Dean grinned and shrugged, trying to look for his lost knife and keep an eye on Cas at the same time. He was fucked without his weapon, but it seemed to have skittered off into the dark.
"This ain't a gentleman's fight," Dean said. If he couldn't find his knife, there was only one other way to level the playing field. He certainly wasn't going to make it to the door, not with it so far away and Cas between him and it. He'd have to disarm Cas, and that wouldn't be easy.
Shit, who was this guy? Dean had realized Cas couldn't be as green as he'd first seemed, but his skills spoke of years of experience. There's no way Ruby didn't have a file on him somewhere, even if the only information they had was a codename.
If Dean made it out of this alive, he'd ask.
Dean rushed forward again.
He kept his focus on Cas's knife, knowing he'd probably have to absorb a few hits to wrestle the weapon away from Cas. As long as he didn't catch the blade somewhere unfortunate, it was nothing he couldn't handle.
Cas lashed out with the knife. Dean ducked under the strike and grabbed at Cas's wrist. Too slow; he'd underestimated Cas's speed and had ended up grabbing his forearm. Cas moved into a second strike as though Dean's grip didn't exist, splitting open Dean's shirt and drawing a thin line of blood across his chest.
Dean punched him, felt something crack under his knuckles, and then there was a foot buried deeply in his stomach. Cas kicked him hard enough to bruise his ribs, sending him flying backwards to hit something that shifted with the blow.
Dazed, Dean looked up. Cas had knocked him hard into one of the rotted support pillars. Dean glanced back at Cas, who looked even more murderous now that his nose was broken and he had blood all down his front.
Dean looked up again.
If he was going down here, he'd take that bastard with him.
He scrambled behind the wooden pillar and pulled. It was rotted in several places, almost all the way through, and him being thrown headlong into it had weakened the wood further. The pillar protested, cracked, and came crashing down. Some dust and small chunks of debris followed, but not enough.
Cas stopped, wary.
Dean darted towards the next pillar. He hoped bringing down a few more load-bearing pillars might bring the whole roof down; the wooden pillars were weakened by exposure and shoddy craftsmanship already, one of the main reasons the building was slated for demolition.
Dean was just helping them out a little.
He slammed into the next pillar at speed, using his momentum to bring the thing down. The roof groaned loudly as the pillar hit the concrete floor. More debris fell.
Cas had caught on. Dean saw his eyes widen and then Cas was running after him, trying to complete the job before Dean brought the building down on both of them. Dean was faster.
Dean had the third pillar down before Cas was on him. Dean dodged the swing of Cas's blade and kicked him hard in the chest to buy himself a few precious seconds head-start. He ran for the next mostly-rotted pillar, already hearing the creak and groan of splintering wood from the other supports. One final quick and dirty takedown should do it.
Dean threw himself bodily at the pillar. His shoulder was gonna hurt like hell tomorrow if he made it out of this alive. The pillar groaned. One more blow, and the rotten part caved in on itself.
The pillar crashed down. Part of it went through the wall of one of the offices. Dean heard a scream.
His blood ran cold. No one else should have been in here.
Everything started to come down. Dean took one look at Castiel, at the open door on the other side of the building, and ran towards the sound of the scream. Debris was starting to fall faster now, in larger chunks, and all around him he could hear the few remaining pillars straining under the weight of the roof.
Dean burst through the door of the old office, looking for the source of the scream. There was a girl in the room who couldn't've been more than ten, holding two dolls. She was wearing an expression of panic, tears streaming down her face.
She'd probably snuck away to play, not realizing the building was condemned. And now the building was coming down around them.
Dean mentally swore. There was no desk nor any other kind of furniture for the girl to hide under here; he had to get her to the door.
He extended a hand.
"Come on," he said. Bless the kid, she didn't ask questions. She moved both dolls to one hand and grabbed at Dean with her other. Dean scooped her up in his arms and turned.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of tan. He darted a glance that way. Cas hadn't moved. He was standing where Dean had left him, watching impassively as the roof fell around him. Dean didn't know why the bastard wasn't attacking him now that Dean was essentially defenseless, but thank Whoever for small favors.
He ran for the exit, wincing as larger and larger pieces of roof fell on him. The remaining pillars were cracking, ready to finally give up to the years of neglect and dry rot and most recent abuse.
Dean didn't make it to the door.
With an almighty cry of protest, the roof finally caved in. Dean looked up at the noise to see a chunk of roof half the size of his beloved Impala crashing towards him.
"Tuck your head in," Dean ground out. He threw the girl clear in an underhand toss just in time. Dean fell to the ground, roaring in pain as he was pinned by the falling roof. The girl cried out as she hit the ground and rolled. She scrambled to her feet seconds later and, after darting a quick glance at Dean, she ran out the door. She'd be scratched and bruised, but she'd heal.
Dean ducked his head and did his best to curl in on himself, protecting the back of his neck with his hands. He winced as more bits of debris came down, but it seemed that the worst of it was behind him both literally and figuratively.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, the noise stopped. Dean cautiously lowered his hands. He was covered in dust, small bits of rock, and pinned in place by a huge pane of the ceiling, but he was alive.
Hell yes, he was alive. He tried wiggling his leg, relieved when it seemed to be working fine. It hurt and would be bruised to hell, but it wasn't broken. Now he just had to get out from under it and make his escape. Hopefully his opponent had been killed in the collapse.
A shadow fell over him. Dean froze.
Fuck his (now very short) life.
He lifted his head, hoping half-heartedly that it wasn't Cas standing above him, ready to deliver the final blow. Weaponless and pinned by the ceiling, there was nothing Dean could do. He couldn't even dodge.
Cas was looking down at him, face impassive but bloody. His coat was streaked with dirt and dust and blood, though he seemed to have come through the ceiling falling mostly unscathed.
His knife was in hand. Dean closed his eyes.
"You saved that girl."
Dean looked up again, scowling defensively. Cas was still holding his weapon, but was making no move to use it. Yet.
"What's it to you?" Dean asked. Cas tilted his head.
"Why?" he asked. Dean just breathed for a moment, trying to subtly shift his leg. No dice.
"You would have had a better shot at escape if you'd let her be," Cas said neutrally. "So why?"
Dean glared.
"Fuck you," he said flatly. "She's just a kid, you soulless son of a bitch."
"And you're the leader and figurehead of the Resistance," Cas said. "If we're talking about life in terms of value-"
"Fuck you," Dean snarled. Cas fell silent.
"I can see why you've garnered such a following," Cas said after a beat, voice soft. "Why you've become such a problem for the Corporation, why they sent me to deal with you."
Dean let his head fall forward. It hurt to crane his neck and it's not like he'd be able to stop Cas even if he saw the blow coming.
"Just do it," he said through gritted teeth. He waited.
The expected strike didn't come.
Instead, Cas knelt down in front of him and put his knife to the side. Dean looked up and watched him warily.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice low. Cas studied him for a moment.
"I've had... questions," Cas said. He looked down, avoiding Dean's gaze. "Doubts. I... I don't know if what the Corporation is doing is just anymore."
Dean just stared, dumbstruck.
"Hell no, it isn't," he finally managed to say. "What was your first freaking clue?!"
Cas narrowed his eyes. Dean held his gaze, one hand squeezed into a fist by nerves. Perhaps he should stop antagonizing the assassin he was currently helplessly immobilized in front of.
"I suppose it was so much easier for you to do what you knew to be right and move out of your father's shadow, Dean Winchester," Cas said. Dean flinched and then he glared, lips pulled thin and tight in anger.
"Point," he said flatly. John Winchester may have sowed the seeds of the Resistance out of vengeance for one woman's death, but Dean had nurtured the harvest in her memory for the betterment of everyone unfortunate enough to be born without a silver spoon shoved up their ass.
Dean cleared his throat.
"So, what happens now?" he asked. "We have a little heart to heart and you bring my head back to the Corporation?"
Cas inclined his head.
"I'm considering disobedience," he said softly. Dean stared at him, stunned.
"You're thinking about leaving the Corporation," Dean said. When someone left the Corporation, it was always in a body bag, and that went double for any Corporation 'cleaners'.
And even if they left on their own two feet, it was never long before they turned up dead in a convenient 'accident'.
"I'm thinking about joining the Resistance," Cas replied evenly.
Well.
Fuck.
"Are you asking me to convince you?" Dean asked. What the hell was he even supposed to say to that? Cas was one hell of a fighter and would be one hell of an asset... if he was legit. If this wasn't a trick. If this wasn't some kind of ploy, some long game the Corporation was playing to smash the entire Resistance in one go.
Still, that wasn't really their style.
Cas studied him for a long moment.
"No," he said at last. "I think you've done that already."
Without another word, Cas stood. Dean tensed.
Cas shifted the section of the ceiling that had been keeping Dean's leg pinned.
The second he could move his leg, Dean surged forward and snatched up Cas's knife. He scrambled to his feet and spun, weapon held up defensively. Cas let go of the ceiling pane and faced Dean calmly, seemingly unafraid of the knife. Dean paused for a moment, considering.
If they fought again, the battle would be a short one. They were both already exhausted and now, Dean held their only weapon, his own knife lost somewhere in the rubble.
In the distance, Dean could hear shouts. The building's collapse had attracted attention. He'd have to make tracks. Quickly.
Dean looked at Cas and made a split second decision. He went with his gut.
"Come on," he said, pocketing the knife. He grabbed Cas's arm and not-so-gently steered him towards the front of the building. "Let's go."
